


Pawn

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've finally seen your leaders for the first time before marching. But if the Queen has Jack Noir, who does the King have?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pawn

**Author's Note:**

> For Homesmut Kink Meme VI.
> 
> "Before leaving the army to become a Warweary Villein, WV was stuck being the king's personal dick-sucker. (Hey, if the queen has Jack Noir...)
> 
> Bonus points if WV resists at some point and the king brings on the scepter mutations in order to get him to finish the job."

When you were spawned, you looked at the world with a sense of wonderful duty and enjoyment and nobility, despite your low status. There were a thousand thousand of your kind, and you weren't any different from them, and there was a sort of glorious heady excitement about that. You were all brothers, and made to fight together, a unit responding as a single body would. For the longest time, you saw nothing but more pawns, responding to training and orders issued from no known source. A few times, you would catch a glimpse of immense other beings far away from the grounds, and wonder, and yearn, but not move.

When the training is complete, you (and the thousand thousand others like you) report to the palace, lining the courtyards and streets of the Dersite capital, for the Address and your duties. Far away and above, the Queen appears. She is slim, lovely, and tall- you've never seen anyone taller than you, and she is so much so. You are so captivated by her height and beauty that you actually stop listening to her words.

Once you get a little more used to the idea of her, you can turn your eyes elsewhere. There is another by her side and a bit behind her on the balcony, a tall man (though not as tall as her), with a sneer and a beautiful uniform, dark and form-fitting. You gulp a little at the sight of him, and whisper to the pawn next to you. "Who is that?"

The other nearly starts in surprise, but whispers back quickly. "That's Jack Noir," he says. "He's the Queen's... uh, archagent."

There was a pause. The Queen withdrew, as Jack Noir the Archagent stood looking out over the assembled pawns. You almost look away- there's so much to look at in this city- but somehow, you're transfixed by him. He glares down, not at you specifically, but at everyone. He's better than everyone. Then his head whips around, and you can catch just the hint of a hand on his shoulder, and Jack Noir bares vicious teeth and follows his mistress away.

Oh. _Oh._

Her _archagent_.

But what about the King? And as soon as you think of him, he's appearing, larger than you can conceive of, simply massive. You boggle for a few minutes as he addresses you. You whisper again to your friend beside you. "But who does the King have?" you ask.

"What?" Your friend looks less and less willing to speak. The King is terrifying.

"If the Queen has Jack Noir," you mutter urgently, "who does the King have?"

Your friend is looking at you in horror, and snaps his head back forward, trembling. When you too turn back, that's when you see him- the King descending, a straight leap off his balcony and down, impacting and shattering streets. He is unharmed; when the King faces rock, it is the rock that bends.

And he is heading for you.

The world parts, pawns fleeing the streets to run for a safe distance, but you cannot move. His eyes, white and staring and intense like the light of Skaia itself, are fixed on you. Are you to be punished? You spoke while he did. That might be very bad.

"You," he says, considering. "Yes. Come with Us."

And trembling, you obey.

= = =

The King's private quarters are vast and violet, like being out in the streets themselves. The King looked down at you and smiled, something that frightened you even more, and seated himself. You knelt.

And then it's a little hard to explain. You were mostly terrified you were about to be executed for your presumption. But instead, you're clasping a massive member in your hand, kneeling still before the King but so close now, and diligently trying to get the whole thing down your throat.

You are dizzily terrified and use this as an excuse to beg for your life- not in words, of course, but in action. You apply yourself to a task you had never considered with fear and strange new desire coursing through you, all the while with the faint fear that this is just a precursor to your execution.

The King's massive hand clasps the back of your head. You nearly pass out as he slides further into you- partially from lack of air. Finally, he has pity and withdraws, and you gasp for precious breath as the King gives you a small gesture. "Disrobe," he says.

You unbutton your tabard with shaking fingers and stand naked before the King. He walks to you, around you, trailing thick fingers over your shoulders, down your chest. You shiver. Then he trails another down your back, and you arch, and then further, twisting and pressing into you, and you feel that fear again. Against your better judgement, you pull yourself off and turn to face him.

The King looks bemused. "Turn around," he says.

You can't speak, but you shake your head. You might prefer execution to where this is leading.

The King smiles. It is just as frightening every time. From a pocket inside his robe, he pulls a ring, the Ring, _the Ring oh wow_. What pawn has gotten to see that up close? He slips it on, and then your fascination turns right back to terror, because suddenly he's shifting, slim sword growing through his chest, tendrils extending, _wings_ , and you remember this from the stories the trainers would tell you and the sight of something huge and flying in the sky a hundred miles high...

The tendrils catch you as you stumble back, grasping your arms together, pulled above your head, and then the other is raking over you, stroking and grasping and wrapping around you. You are not thinking now, just struggling and tugging with bound limbs, but you are nothing compared to this monster, and your King seats himself again and watches with white intent eyes. His single hand drifts to that massive cock, slowly stroking, mirroring his tentacle wrapped around yours that's dragging you towards a finish you don't desire.

He is faintly smiling, broadcasting cruel amusement, watching you struggle and moan inadvertently as the tendrils grip your cock. Your chest is heaving and you are approaching the end as the tendrils pull you back to him. Then, struggling though you're tied, you're lowered down on him, and inch by agonizing inch he works his way inside of you. A tendril slips into your mouth as you cry out, and you're filled, every limb bound, your cock rigid in the King's touch.

Thankfully, he is swift. Perhaps he wanted you to struggle, or maybe he was just on the edge all along, but after a handful of thrusts that feel like they'll rend you in two, the King lets out a short barking cry and empties into you. The tentacles seize, and the one around your cock squeezes, and then you are coming too, whining around the thing in your throat and letting shivers race your body until you collapse, drained.

The King lets you down, carelessly, and you lie an eternity on his floor before you can pull yourself together. And then you go.

= = =

When he takes the field, you are in the rank and file. When he returns to his tent, you are there, unwillingly waiting. He uses you and finishes you and never asks you your name, but never mistakes you. It is you every time.

You have lost the hope and glory you found in being one of many. You are the only one, now.

One day an Archagent comes to camp and speaks to the King. You linger outside the tent for the meeting to conclude, for the King's word sending for you. There are heated words exchanged, and finally the Archagent stalks out of the King's pavilion.

It is Jack Noir. You watch him pass, and he turns his head as you do. Your eyes meet, and though he is foreign and tall and strange, he eyes you, waiting unwillingly on the King's word, and something passes behind his eyes.

The two of you watch each other without word, but you know without thinking that Jack Noir understands you, and so you understand Jack Noir. He is the Queen's, and you are the King's, but he is as caged as you are, and as unwilling.

And you wonder what he will do about it.


End file.
